Nadir A/N: I would like to thank hopsjollyhigh and mendedpixie for some of the head canons that inspired later parts of this story and for giving me permission to elaborate on them here. Please look for their stories, because they are both very talented writers themselves and deserve all the recognition they get and so much more. I would also like to thank mildlyholmes for pre-reading this and giving me some wonderful suggestions.

Also, this prologue is crucial to set the stage for the true essence of what this story is, but far removed from what you can expect moving forward! at least for awhile. I've mentioned Persia... And this is certainly getting back to Persia.

EDIT: I've changed a few things of this, as I am getting back to the story and want to make sure it is up to my standards. The general plot progression has remained the same, however.

Just a warning: watch the dates.

Prologue

April 1881, Paris

Christine was confused.

She slowly walked through the well-lit hallways of the Palais Garnier, fearing that she was lost. As a chorus girl, she had had no reason to seek out upper management and she was wholly unsure of exactly where their offices were located. Her position had been arranged by the musical director; she doubted she had ever spoken a direct word to either of the managers before. Why would they now demand her presence?

The note on her dresser, found as she changed out of her costume that evening, had simply given her a place and a time, but no indication of purpose.

Finally, she reached the number indicated on the note. Taking a deep breath, she raised a shaking fist and knocked. There was no response. Christine frowned. It couldn't be the wrong room. The number certainly matched.

A little more forcefully this time, Christine knocked again, loud enough that the sound echoed around her. Sure enough, she soon heard a chair being shifted and footsteps as they neared. Finally, the door opened with the familiar face of Monsieur Debienne. He was an older man, with wrinkles derived from scowls. At the moment, however, he appeared rather jovial, if perhaps slightly reserved.

"Ah! Mademoiselle Daaé, if I am correct? I do not believe we have formally been introduced, although surely you must know who I am. Monsieur Reyer was rather enthusiastic when he mentioned your addition to the company," he claimed softly as he gave a small bow. " Come in, come in. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival." He turned sideways, gesturing with an arm to bid Christine to enter.

Christine was at a complete loss for the etiquette of the situation, but stepped forward with a polite bow of her head. She forced herself to annunciate, yet still spoke haltingly, "Yes… Monsieur Debienne. I just received your missive and I am quite curious of its purpose. I did not keep you waiting long?"

"Not at all, my dear," Debienne replied, leading the way into the office, as Christine lingered a step or two behind. "Not for a moment did we doubt your punctuality."

Christine followed cautiously into the large room, well… rooms. The front area appeared to be a small sitting area, the walls lined with shelves full of books and filed documents. Through another doorway was the actual office.

"Right this way, mademoiselle. I do apologize for my apparent lack of manners. I did not mean to withhold the purpose of this conference, but our guest insisted upon preserving his anonymity."

Christine nodded, stepping tentatively into the room. Across from her, two other men spoke quietly as they waited.

Christine wasn't surprised to recognize the other manager, Monsieur Poligny, but was curious of an older, foreign-looking gentleman with whom he was currently conversing. The stranger's exotic dark skin was such a contrast to the pale complexion that was so fashionable among Parisian elites. His green eyes were striking in their bold, unusual color.

Christine watched as they finished their conversation, the foreign man forfeiting a small envelope to the willing grasp of the manager.

Noticing Christine's presence in the room, he turned to look directly at her. When their eyes suddenly met, Christine caught spying, she nearly drew back at the intensity of their emerald depths, and abashed, quickly averted her eyes. Objectively, Christine thought that he must be a handsome man to those of his native country, and perhaps to many outside of it. Glimpsing up shyly, she saw that he remained waiting politely behind one of the leather-bound chairs of the office. He bore an expression she could not quite discern.

He looked familiar, Christine realized. Admittedly, she saw many faces that infiltrated the Opera House both during rehearsals and performances: not only patrons and stage workers, but also the various individuals that took to pervading the thousands of rooms and seemingly endless hallways. Many faces notable in a quick moment, but easily forgettable.

She did not remember those eyes, but she did recognize the set of his shoulders, his rough movements as he perused various corridors through the opera house. And the time she had seen Box 5 occupied, the only time, it had been him.

"Messieurs," she cautioned, breaking the silence. She curtsied, her eyes darting between the three men in the room. Monsieur Poligny started to approach, both hands stretched out in greeting, taking both of hers in return.

"Ah! Mademoiselle!" He rejoiced. For as reservedly as Monsieur Debienne had received her, Poligny was equivalently boisterous, although Christine could recognize the touch of false levity. He raised one of her hands up to his lips, however releasing it before it made contact. She stepped back, blushing, wary of the display of familiarity.

He held on to one of her arms, pulling her farther into the room as he spoke. "I must say that the chorus has been absolutely entrancing as of late! But alas, let me introduce you to the coordinator of this little meeting and a very important friend of the Palais Garnier — Monsieur Nadir Khan."

At Poligny's gesture, Christine did not miss the sly look in Debienne's eyes. She was not so naive. She had heard some of the gossip that infiltrated the female sphere of the company, regarding wealthy patrons, but she had done her best to ignore it. She prayed that it was not the case here.

Christine shifted her gaze to the dark-skinned man, examining the finely tailored suit that he wore, accompanied by a wool cap that covered most of his dark hair, touched with gray at the sides. He did not seem the type to proposition young female members of the chorus under the guise of supporting the arts. Appearances could be deceiving, however.

As he stepped forward, she looked politely to the floor, remembering the etiquette that had been drilled into her from a young age. She did not wish to appear uncouth and waited for one of the managers to make formal introductions.

"Let me introduce one of our members of the Garnier's infamously captivating chorus, Mademoiselle Daaé. We welcomed her expertise into our ranks six months ago, I believe." He looked to Christine. She nodded shallowly in affirmation.

"I'm sure it is a pleasure for her to meet your acquaintance," Monsieur Poligny finished softly. Christine shifted the weight on her feet, finally managing the courage to lift her gaze to his penetrating eyes.

They seemed to soften, however, as Monsieur Khan bowed deeply. "The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle. Although I would prefer it immensely if you would call me Nadir, or Monsieur Nadir if that is more appropriate. Surnames are not a fixture in my homeland. Khan is more of a title, really, a suffix, rather than a name, and I still find its sole use odd."

If Christine was slightly uncomfortable with the use of his given name, she did not show it. Instead, she was curious at the sound of the foreign accent, not terribly strong, although noticeable, that accompanied his smooth, deep voice. She wondered where exactly he hailed from. She found her voice, letting her curious nature win over her propriety, "And where is that homeland, if I may presume?"

"Persia, Mademoiselle — the capital of Tehran, to be precise. I served as the Daroga of Mazenderan for quite some time." He must have seen the confusion in her eyes, for he clarified, "Daroga is the Persian title for chief of police… Another title to which I am commonly referred."

Christine caught what appeared to be a wistfulness cast over him. After a short pause, he continued, an amused glint to his eyes. "However, I did not ask you here to discuss the specifics of my upbringing — I do have some business to discuss."

Christine glanced over at the managers for a hint at what such business would entail, but realized that they had at some point vacated the office. Their absence and her current companion's congenial presence mitigated a portion of her reservations. She bit her lip, "If you will have me call you by your given name, I must insist that you call me Christine in return."

"I would abide by your wishes, if not for the nature of this discussion, Mademoiselle, for I am but a messenger in this accord, and would never wish to project any... unwarranted familiarity — Here, why don't we have a seat."

Christine sat down in one of the proffered chairs. It was nicely upholstered, if rather stiff. Across from her, Nadir was politely crossed his legs as he reclined. "I would offer you a drink, but I admit that both those managers' preference and location of refreshment escape me."

"It is quite all right," Christine looked down to her hands, rubbing them together. "I would rather prefer for you to outright with the purpose of this rendezvous. My guardian expects me home before too late an hour."

Until now, Christine had not thought of how Mama Valerius would react to her late return. Although not her birth mother, the woman had been the steadying force for Christine throughout these last few years — ever since her Papa had died suddenly of illness. It was Mama's encouragement that had directed her to continue her musical education, even when despair had threatened to overwhelm her. While the sadness remained, it no longer wholly consumed her. Still, she yearned to return to the security and sanctity of the small flat she shared with the elderly woman.

Nadir interrupted her thoughts, "Do not worry, your guardian has been properly informed of your current whereabouts; you will be properly escorted when the time comes."

"Oh! Thank you, then." Something suddenly came to Christine's mind. "Why did you initially request that I did not know that it was you who wished to meet with me?" She cautioned, not wanting to insult the man.

Nadir sighed in response, "Not for any indecent reason, I attest. I simply did not know what sort of unpleasant rumors you may have caught as to my character — I had hoped not to frighten you away. An older, foreign man lurking around an opera house could appear improper to some, especially when beseeching the presence of a young woman. But do not worry. This meeting is not of such a nature."

Christine almost let out a sigh of relief, but refrained. "You needn't have worried, Monsieur… Nadir." Christine paused, but the name felt natural on her lips. Once the initial awkwardness faded, she found the man easy to talk to, the foreign lilt to his voice welcoming instead of deterrent. "I am not one to indulge in gossip. Although, I must admit that I do recognize you from your… lurking."

"Then I must apologize if I, at any point, made you uncomfortable." Christine watched as Nadir straightened his posture, and she knew that finally, her confusion would be mollified.

"Not at all," Christine assured him. "Although, I now wonder why it is only you that I have seen in Box 5." The Corps de Ballet often buzzed with chatter as to the mystery of the box, connoting various schemes and scandals. One girl had once even gone so far as to suggest it was haunted. Christine had thought the notion ridiculous, and had kept quiet on the matter.

"It is easy not to be seen in," Christine heard him voice softly, interrupting her thoughts. So softly, in fact, that she was sure that he had not meant for her to have heard it.

"What was that?" She asked.

"Oh, nothing. I simply hold season tickets for the box — I am quite friendly with the managers, and they were willing to relinquish the seats at a discounted fee. It has a rather nice view of the stage, and I am quite fond of the performances."

Christine noticed that he was starting to appear rather uneasy, as if he was skirting around a certain topic. She also doubted the logistics in procuring seats for the entire season, for every performance. Nobody could ever be willing to sit through every performance that the Company had.

She enquired further, "Just you? Occupy the entire box? Do you expect me to believe that you attend every performance, spending an exorbitant amount of money to sit in a box that could comfortably sit half a dozen people?"

"Well," he started. "No. I do not attend every performance, but…" He paused, thinking. Christine watched him carefully, her eyebrows furrowing as her confusion returned. Quite unexpectedly, she saw as he shook his head with a small smile, muttering something under his breath that she could not quite make out.

He came back to himself and continued, although not before pulling out his watch to check the time, "I find that we have miraculously found ourselves off topic once again. I must apologize for the interruption."

"I admit that the blame rests with me," Christine assured him. She had, after all, been the one to ask the leading questions. She was surprised, honestly, for it was quite unlike her. She never wanted to draw attention to herself and was seen as a quiet sort. Something in this man, however, piqued her curiosity. "I couldn't help myself from asking questions— I apologize."

"No need to apologize. I was only too willing to comply in answering them. As a gentleman, I believe I must shoulder some responsibility as well." Nadir granted with a small smile. He reached into another pocket of his suit, pulling out an envelope. He leaned forward, holding it out to her.

"What is this?" Christine asked as she took the envelope between her fingers. She noted the fine quality of the parchment before pulling open the small seal.

Nadir did not answer her, but instead gestured for her to examine the contents. Pulling several pieces of paper from the envelope, she recognized the parallel lines of staff paper. Inscribed onto it were scores of composition, although the penmanship was rough and several ink blotches littered the white expanse. Looking closer, she realized that the ink, as well as the lines, were not quite inscribed, but instead had a raised texture. She flitted her fingers over it, examining the pattern.

Sight reading the music, she recognized the notes, not as a song, but as a vocal exercise, easing its way into both soaring high notes and the receding back into a more comfortable registers. There was no words to clarify the meaning of the composition. However, on the bottom, right hand corner, she saw, in what appeared to be shaky handwriting: "Release your jaw."

"I do not understand." Christine murmured, holding the parchment out, beseeching Nadir to explain. Nadir reached over, taking the sheet music from Christine. After glancing at its contents, Christine was surprised when he laughed in response. "Monsieur?"

"Cryptic as always, aren't you?" He muttered. He placed the parchment on the table, leaning back in his chair. He took a deep breath. "You see, Mademoiselle — I have a friend who is very interested in you."

At Christine's expression of shock, he quickly clarified, shaking his hands, as if intending to erase the insinuation. "I mean to say, in your voice. He is very interested in your voice — He told me that he included a few exercises, if you did indeed choose to accept his offer, but I had hoped that he had included a letter explaining his desire to tutor you. However, it seems that he wishes to leave that explanation to me."

"Tutor? Me?" Christine exclaimed. Who would want to tutor her? She was simply a member of the chorus, and was contented with the general applause bestowed upon the production… and the general disinterest the audience bestowed upon her, no matter the praise the managers lauded her when trying to gain her favor. She knew and was comfortable with her role in the Company.

"He is a… regular… at the Opera House." Nadir paused, as if trying to decide the direction of his proposal before he confused her further. She was already quite overwhelmed as it was. "He has heard you singing and heard your potential. Then, one day, he was ordering me to the managers' office, shoving that envelope into my hand, telling me to request an audience with you — and thus, here I am. "

"How could he have heard me? I am simply part of the chorus, Monsieur; no one could possibly be able to distinguish me from such a sea of voices."

"My… friend has a very acute ear, perhaps more keen than any man before him. I admit even my suspicion when he singled you out during a performance, for all I could hear was, as you said, a sea of voices. Over the years, however, I have learned never to doubt the musical prowess of my friend — You would be astounded to witness even a fraction of his genius."

Christine was in shock, unsure of how to respond. She had joined the conservatoire and earned her spot in the chorus in respect to her father's memory, and because it was the only profession that she had any semblance of talent. Yes, she was a member of the chorus, and while the lyrics and melodies came from her lips, she could not remember the last time she had truly been able to sing — with spirit in her heart and passion in her voice. And now, to have some mysterious man request permission to give her lessons…

"Your friend… what is his name?"

"His name is Erik," Nadir replied.

An unusual name for a Parisian, Christine noted. Perhaps they had more in common than she realized.

"Just Erik? And if I may ask… where does he hail from?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle. Just Erik. It appears we share the same disregard for last names, although for very different reasons. It is of no consequence; you would not recognize the name if I had one to give." Nadir again reached for the papers of the table and urged for her to take them. "As for where he comes from… I believe he was born in France, but has spent as much time within its borders as he has without. A man of many influences, I would say, with little patience for the fashionable Parisian attitude, if that is what you worry."

Although not the exact reasoning for her question, Christine was still relieved to learn that her potential tutor would not think less of her due to status, "Not at all, Monsieur. I was simply curious — Erik is a name I am much more used to attached to a citizen of my home country. It is a much rarer title in Paris."

"Yes… yes, I will jest and say that if you accept his offer, you will come to learn that much about Erik is unusual," Nadir paused. Christine got the impression that he regretted his comment. She offered him a sincere look.

A hand went back to compulsively stroke the back of his neck. "Not that it should be uhh… an issue of any sort. You will, if you accept of course, find that Erik is… not like other men, in a… uhh… multitude of ways." He stopped and sighed. "I apologize. I fear that I am as much deterring you from this offer… and am more making a fool of myself than I am being convincing."

As perplexed as Christine was, she still gave him a small smile of encouragement, even if tempered with uncertainty. After all, this was Paris. She had come across her fair share of eccentrics, which varied in range from the harmless to the adverse. Yet, she was starting to trust this man, even in the short time she had conversed. If he insisted on his friend's competence and integrity, she was willing to accept a bit of peculiarity.

"It is quite alright. I was actually thinking you were being quite persuasive," she assured him.

Nadir gave a genuine smile. "Then I would truly encourage that you take this opportunity, Mademoiselle. Erik does not offer praise lightly, and for him to have seen something in you…" he trailed off, giving her a questioning look.

Christine still had more questions than she thought this man would be willing to answer. She was stunned, a combination of apprehension and confusion. However, the shock was pacified by a certain curiosity and a modicum of excitement that she was not prepared to admit. For so long she had acquiesced to her small measure of success, letting her sorrow strip her of ambition. To think that she could eclipse the limits she had set upon herself…

"I accept!" She blurted before she realized she had said it. She covered her mouth in embarrassment over the uncharacteristic declaration. She quickly clarified, tripping slightly over her words, "I mean… I would be honored to take this opportunity if you would first clarify a few things for me? I would not have myself taken advantage of."

Nadir looked amused, a small smile curving the edge of his lips. "But of course. Ask anything you may wish. I do believe we have a little while longer before I promised your return to your guardian and before those managers find the courage to omit us from their offices," he finished with a small laugh.

Christine smiled as she took the proffered papers that were still in his hands. She examined the compositions, fingers flitting over the curious texture. She looked up, all seriousness returning to her expression. "How do you know this man, this Erik?"

Nadir leaned back in his chair. "Erik is a friend with which I share an extensive history. I would elaborate, but it is a history which cannot and should not be given during such a limited time frame, I'm afraid," he confided softly.

"I see," Christine replied. She was not so naive. She recognized when information was being withheld, although she couldn't expect to learn everything during a short conversation. She was still curious, however. "Well, perhaps one day."

"Yes. One day. Is there anything else that you wanted to know?"

Christine did have one more important question, if she was sure to take this opportunity. "Just a few more questions, Monsieur," she started. She was slightly embarrassed at the nature of her next enquiry. She did not want to insult the man before her. "I'm sure you understand that I am but a young woman with only an elderly guardian to protect her virtue? Where will these… lessons be taking place?"

Nadir nodded, not at all flustered, but seemingly rather prepared for the question. "Ah, yes. Be assured that your safety is of utmost priority. Neither Erik nor I would ever dream of sullying your reputation. I have spoken to the managers and they are willing to relinquish the use of a small practice room every evening after rehearsals, if that would be quite alright with you. You would of course be allowed a chaperone, if you so desire, although I sincerely doubt you would need one. Madame Giry, perhaps?"

"The ballet mistress?" She had spoken to the woman a few times, although her experience with the woman was limited, only receiving some points of advice as to the small dancing bits required of the chorus. Never had she been subject to the strict, harsh treatment legendary of the infamous ballerina.

"The very same. She is an acquaintance of Erik's and rather discreet. I am sure she would be willing to aid in your comfort — I shall speak with her. The room would be yours to use as soon as tomorrow, if you so desire."

"Oh! Really? That soon?" Christine exclaimed. All of this was almost starting to move too quickly for her tastes. She had accepted, but was unprepared for the expedition that it was all taking place. Her head was spinning! However, she was starting to truly feel that she was ready for this opportunity. She could be bold, right? Tomorrow was a good a day to further her goals as any other.

"Yes, my friend is simply eager, you see," Nadir replied as he nodded. "He never has been good with patience — Perhaps you will learn that soon enough. He wishes to start as soon as possible, he told me."

Christine was nearly daunted at what he implied, but with a newfound burgeoning confidence, refused it to allow to sway her decision. There was no other way to put it — she was excited — for the first time in a long time.

As she stood up suddenly, Nadir mimicked her movement. She swallowed hard, raising her chin up high, "Then I see no reason to keep him waiting, I suppose. Unless, of course, there is anything else that you believe I should know before I make such a commitment?" She raised her eyebrow.

"No… nothing. I mean, it really should have no bearing on your decision… however." Nadir hesitated, fighting some sort of internal trial. He sighed again, running a hand over his dark, finely trimmed beard. He mumbled something to himself before continuing.

"Erik would not wish me to inform you of this, wanting you to make your own judgements of him firsthand — but I would feel truly remiss to be dishonest."

With the tension in the olive-skinned man, his jade eyes focused on the floor rather than her own person, Christine worried that this opportunity was to prove anything but, that her hopes had been raised only then to be crushed. She said tentatively, perhaps trying to convince even herself, "Anything it is, as long as your friend is of decent character, if his genius is half as great as you profess it to be — I'm certain that it will surely compensate for…?"

Nadir followed her lead. "It should not be an issue, but for a lady, it could perhaps prove… What is the right term…? Intimidating, one might say. You see, Mademoiselle, that Erik is much unlike other men, as I've said before — I do not intend to be so vague, but it is a sensitive topic; he would not want me telling you."

"Perhaps it should not be as sensitive as you think," Christine replied. She was curious as to her new tutor, but cautious. What aspect of the man could be so disheartening as to sway her decision?

Nonetheless, she had the responsibility to look after her own wellbeing, and if Nadir thought the information pertinent, she had to believe him. "I have spent many years around artists and eccentrics. Whatever it is, it may not prove such a hindrance as you might suspect."

"Your confidence is inspiring, but I do believe my hesitance is justified. Yet, it is not something that can be hidden and so I must be forthright. A preceding awareness of it shall not tempt your decision. I simply do not wish for you to be alarmed and if are to be tutored by Erik, you should be informed that he…"

"Yes?" Christine prompted.

"He wears a mask," he finished swiftly, his annunciation muddled, yet Christine understood the words.

Christine was confused. That was certainly not what she had expected. She was not one to judge another on outward appearance, but had worried that perhaps Nadir was going to reveal that Erik was some sort of convict. Or perhaps a womanizer.

"A mask?" Christine repeated. She had to make sure she heard correctly.

"Yes. A mask. It covers his entire face. He is not any sort of loose criminal, believe me, hiding his face from the law. In fact, the authorities are quite aware of his existence and… peculiarities. He wears the mask for personal reasons. He was…" Nadir paused for a moment, pursing his lips, "He was injured some years ago, and he prefers to keep the damage hidden."

Luckily, her father had always taught her that looks always played second fiddle to the compassion and integrity in one's heart. Still, not to be able to see someone's true face was rather jarring.

At this Nadir became quite solemn as he continued. "I know it is hard to trust someone who hides his face, but please take my word when I say you will have nothing to fear from him. However, you must never try to remove the mask… Please. It will do neither you nor him any good."

"Oh, I see," Christine responded, steeling herself. "I would never surmise to judge a person by second-hand account, especially by something as trivial as appearance. I am certain that I will become used to it in time." She moved towards the entry way, expecting Nadir to follow in order to escort her home, as he had promised. "If that is all, tell Erik that I eagerly await meeting with him tomorrow. Seven o' clock, correct?"

She turned to leave, but halted at the tone of Nadir's hesitant voice.

"There is one more thing, Mademoiselle," Nadir began as he remained standing where he was. He sighed once more. His hand again traced the outline of his beard, biding time in his obvious discomfort.

"Yes? What is it, Monsieur? I believe that if I am willing to turn a blind eye to—" Christine was cut off by a rather ungentlemanly snort. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you quite alright, Monsieur?"

"Yes, quite alright. It's just that you said…" he faltered. "No, never mind. It should not matter. It does not matter. You should only have his mask to worry about now… Not that you should worry about it. You would come to your own conclusions, naturally… eventually, I am sure. If you will excuse me, I shall call you a cab and will undoubtedly see you tomorrow." He stood up straight, flustered as he was careful not to brush against Christine as he aimed towards the door.

"Monsieur!" Christine implored, reaching up to grab his shoulder. "Please."

"Very well." Nadir's voice dropped, his tone lightened. "I… I'm sure you noticed the… unusual nature of his writing."

At that, Christine reflected on the raised quality. She had thought it unusual, but suspected that is was perhaps a different brand or composition. She never claimed to be an authority on ink quality. "Yes, I did notice. I figured that it was simply a different kind from my own."

Nadir nodded, "Yes. Quite different. Erik, the chemist that he sometimes likes to profess that he is, singlehandedly created that ink to dry quickly and to leave that raised texture so he could later feel what he wrote. He uses another system for ease of reading, but needed a medium that could be understand by him and others alike. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Something tugged on a corner of Christine's brain, perhaps providing the correct answer, but not wanting to presume. She shook her head slowly.

"I don't..."

"It is quite a long story, and he has not always been so. Not many individuals are able to tell, especially if they do not spend much time with him. He hides it so well. Sometimes even I forget. "

"Are you trying to say, Monsieur Nadir, that—?" She had unconsciously raised a hand to grace the skin about her temple.

"Yes, Mademoiselle." Nadir nodded his head, his eyes closed. "Erik is blind."

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